Lavender's (Eighth) First Day of School
by gingerbred
Summary: 1st September, 1998. Bowing to Ministry pressure (the tossers), Lavender returns to school for her eighth year. A story of purple weasel friendship.


**A/N:** It's autumn and time to return to school...

Technically, this is the third story in the 'Christmas Spirit' universe, but they're all stand alone one-shots...

Not seeking con-crit at this time, thanks.

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**Originally Published:** 2019-06-03 on LJ / DW, one-shot, **complete**

**Characters:** Lavender, Ron, house elves, **Mentioned:** Harry, Hermione, Parvati

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**1st September, 1998**

It was different this year. Lavender Brown had always looked forward to the first day of school. Fine, the _first_ year she might have been a little nervous - and missed her rabbit - but after that, in the years to come, her position was clear, everything tidily defined. She didn't need to be a seer to know what to expect. Parvati, and often her twin sister Padma, would be waiting for her, she and 'Vati would catch up on all the delicious goss, where they'd gone, what they'd done...

This time last year, Lav had been bursting with excitement to tell 'Vati all about Gaston, the swoon-worthy boy, no, _man_, the swoon-worthy _man_ she'd met while summering with her mum and grandparents in France. It had helped her get over that horrible affair with Ron and... Hermione. Her _roommate_, the _witch_, had stolen her _boyfriend_ and still the Prefect was held up to all as some kind of _role model_, a paragon of _virtue_. The hypocrisy! It had been infuriating. Nauseating. _Humiliating_.

_Heartbreaking_...

But the time with Gaston had helped her get over that, and she'd felt herself again. Well, mostly. So there she was, a year ago, looking forward to the start of the term, despite the whole political looniness...

It might have helped that she knew Hermione (as a Muggle-born) couldn't be returning, she can admit that. Well, not _out loud_, obviously; she'd have to be an idiot to say so (public opinion would roast her at the stake), and she most definitely isn't. But she'd also had to have been an idiot to not recognise the advantage to _not_ having to watch _her_ WonWon snogging her stupid bint of a roommate in every corner of the castle. Ron had rather liked making a display of things, proving to one and all how terribly desirable he was. (_'And he _had_ been...'_ she sighs.) She didn't think she had the stomach to watch if he kept that up, and she was fairly sure he would...

Gaston!

Yes, Gaston. Oh, he'd been just... dreamy. _So_ yummy. And she should know, she'd tasted him extensively. (Hadn't _that_ been a treat; no bothersome calories involved.) And so there she'd been, a satchel full of holiday snaps to show, just in case someone wasn't inclined to believe her claims.

But then _nothing_ had gone to plan.

WonWon hadn't returned to school either. Word was, he was home with Spattergroit. The tattle, of course, said that was _complete_ rubbish, and he'd run off with that witch Hermione. Seventh years! _Shacking up_together! No matter _how_ delish Gaston or even WonWon had been, she'd _never_ have considered doing _that_. At least not till she'd finished school. Somehow imagining what they had got up to, Hermione and Lav's WonWon, was even worse than the reality.

Probably.

Certainly the way _they_ told the story. There'd been a lot of camping and cold and hunger and running about, most of which sounded uncomfortable or boring, and when it wasn't that, it was apparently _thoroughly_ unpleasant. Not Lav's scene _at all_, really. _Any_ of it.

But the point was Lav doesn't have anything to compare it to, what it would have actually been like to have to watch the two of them instead...

The whole last year had been a disaster, from start to finish. And it was _still_ easier to focus on that than the past few months. _Safer_.

She absently fingers the scars Greyback had gifted her in the battle as she tries not to think about it.

She fails, of course. There's only so long she can avoid it. It's the reason she's hidden here in an alcove near the kitchens, avoiding even the elves, and not sat in the Great Hall joining the others for the Sorting Ceremony and the start of term feast. She'd gotten permission from the Headmistress to Apparate back to Hogwarts this afternoon, in advance of the arrival of the Express. She'd had an excellent excuse, naturally; she'd had yet _another_ in a long line of appointments at St. Mungo's. These days, it seemed she always did. But as it meant she would miss the Express, she was thankful. So she Apparated, and after dropping her things in her room, she'd beaten a hasty retreat. She didn't want to be there when the others returned. For them to see her like that.

It was only delaying the inevitable, and yet she wanted to delay it as long as she could.

As the Prophet had it, Hermione was the only reason Harry had survived the last year on the run. Privately, Lav thinks that's a load of bollocks; she knows full well Harry beat Hermione in their DADA O.W.L.s., but that's what Skeeter had to say and the public seems to believe. (Lav would think withering thoughts about the press' dodgy research if it didn't sound just too, too Hermione-esque. Not that she's pleased with the results in the least...) While there was much speculation on the nature of the relationships between the 'Golden Trio', Skeeter had been quite clear: Hermione and WonWon were 'a thing' now.

Hermione wasn't great looking or anything, but her teeth had been sorted years ago, somewhere or another she'd learnt a charm to at least kind of manage her hair, and if Lav's fair - it's not _unheard of_ \- Hermione was perfectly passable these days.

Lav wouldn't ordinarily consider 'passable' cause for worry.

The trouble is, Lav _isn't_.

She's nowhere _near_ passable these days.

She's nothing but a _circus freak_. With a craving for meat. It bordered on a wonder, the Healers had said, that she had survived _at all_. Lav thinks she looks it. Like she probably shouldn't have survived. Some days, many days, she wishes she hadn't.

The first thing she'd done when she'd been released from St. Mungo's was to remove all mirrors in the house. (She may have done so with a Reducto - thank you, Harry - and she and her mum may have had words - many and very heated words - afterwards. It was only fair, though. What had her mum been _thinking_?) The next thing she tried was disconnecting their Floo. Her mum hadn't been pleased in the least at the idea and finally won with the argument the connection meant Lav could Floo straight to St. Mungo's instead of Apparating outside. She was less likely to attract attention that way. Those were the proverbial magic words, of course. Anything she can do to go unnoticed... They ended up compromising and agreed Lav need never answer it. She wasn't even taking owls.

If it were up to _her_, she'd still be home in her bedroom, hiding from the world. If it hadn't been for the appointments, the never-ending appointments, she'd never have left the house at all.

But the Ministry wanted everyone to return to school, for things to get back to 'normal'. Lav scoffs at the thought. There _is_ no normal anymore. And it had been a huge ask to expect everyone to return to the scene of the slaughter. But the new government hadn't wanted to mandate it and have everyone notice just how little had changed with the new regime, so they'd set about pressuring people in the sneakiest possible ways. Lav was _quite_ sure, the Ministry must be overrun with Slytherins to this very day.

Well, them or Ravenclaws. Some days it's hard to tell the difference.

'Incentivising', she'd heard it called.

They'd trapped Lav with the threat to no longer permit her mum to deduct her daughter from her taxes if aforementioned daughter didn't resume her schooling. She was of age, after all. And then, purely by coincidence, there had been a hefty tax hike that seemed to apply to anyone with offspring that _could_have returned but chose _not_ to. The tossers. (The Muggle-born, ironically, had been largely unaffected by that one. Suspicion was, Memory Charms may have been brought to bear to help encourage _them_.)

Her mum, in turn, had threatened to kick Lav out of their home if she didn't go back to complete her eighth year, which had rather decisively settled the matter for their family. And according to the new law, there'd be further benefits were Lav to do an apprenticeship next year, so that seemed carved in stone as well, she thinks glumly.

Right now, she has a few O.W.L.s and no N.E.W.T.s, no apprenticeship lined up, no qualifications (beyond circus act)... What she _has_ are visions of spooning cold food from a Muggle tin, a nightmare scenario Professor Burbage had imparted in Muggle Studies. (For the sake of the nightmare, a Warming Charm couldn't be employed. Lav hasn't a clue _why not_, the things were dead useful, but she assumes it's down to atmosphere. People don't appreciate its importance enough.) Either way, that story had made the rounds. Cold food in tins. Living on the street. Possibly in a cardboard box for some reason, although an Impervius, Softening and Warming Charms could make it rather cozy, really. Perhaps with some curtains... At any rate, Lav already saw herself ending as the crazy Kneazle lady of the tale.

So she hides here in her niche off the kitchens, eating a plate of exceedingly rare beef, practically mooing, wondering what would attract more notice, her meal or her ravaged face had she joined the others in the Great Hall. If she times it right, she can get back to her room before dinner is over and hide behind the curtains of her bed. That should get her through to tomorrow morning.

She's just not sure what she'll do then...

She's been practising for all she's worth, glamouring up a storm. It never seems to be good enough, to hide the extensive damage... She doesn't stop even as she sits there now, casting absently again and again...

Which is when she's interrupted.

"Hey, Lav. What are _you_ doing here?"

The voice is _far_ too familiar for comfort.

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Hermione, Harry, and Ron had Apparated back to Hogwarts in an attempt to avoid the reporters and the crush of fans. (Mostly Harry's, as luck would have it. 'Boy-Who-Lived', _yet again_, after all.) That took some getting used to, the mobbing, and the three of them hadn't been out and about much this summer to do so.

The Apparition idea was sound in principle. It had kept them from being trapped in enclosed quarters with nowhere to flee for the better part of a day, and they had escaped the reporters quite nicely in the process, so there's that. But now they'd reached Hogwarts, there were still the other students to deal with, and a great number of them seem intent on making as much of a nuisance of themselves as humanly possible.

Worse: as _magically_ possible.

Wingardium Leviosas had steered more than a handful of self-inking quills and parchment their way for autographs, and the cameras had flown about, flashing without respite. One could bank on the results landing in some rag or another by the weekend at the latest.

The minute the trio had reached the castle, they'd been swamped, _swarmed_. It was just like those weaponised honeybees 'Mione had been on about. Terrifying. And _that's_ coming from someone who had faced the Death Eater hordes, or at least that's what Ron plans on putting in his CV.

He'd seen an opening, and so he took it, loping off towards the kitchens, simply not up to all the people and _certainly_ not up to the Great Hall. He doesn't understand how McGonagall thought they could just hold the feast there, all of them sat there happily eating as though it hadn't served as the wizarding world's largest morgue not four months since.

He half suspects the answer is she's barmy. It would go a fair way to explaining a _lot_. Like why they're all back here to begin with...

And so Ron heads for a quiet corner, thinking he'll pop by the kitchens later. He's all the more surprised to discover Lavender there already. He hesitates for a moment, her head is lowered, but there's no mistaking her hair - she hasn't seen him yet, he could get away clean... But something about her posture makes him stay. She isn't chasing him, she doesn't want anything from him like the masses clamouring for Harry in the Entrance Hall. So he enters the alcove, clearing his throat to alert her to his presence.

"Hey, Lav. What are _you_ doing here? Aren't you going to miss the feast?"

"Aren't _you_?" she answers, and it seems a bit short. Certainly for Lav anyway. She lifts her head from her plate, but still doesn't quite look at him, her hair acting almost as a shield between them.

He plops down heavily on the bench next to her, sort of at her back, really, because she's still sitting turned away from the opening.

"Did I _ask_ you to join me?" She hisses accusingly.

He ignores the question. Ron's not fussed with propriety or seemliness. He doesn't wait for an invitation, Merlin knows, he'd have spent his whole life waiting for one at the Burrow with six siblings... _Five_ now. Five...

With a sigh, he replies, "I was going to eat in the kitchens. Care to join me?"

Lav's fairly sure there's blood on her lips and maybe on her chin from her meal. She _really_ doesn't want to be seen like this. It could have been worse, she supposes, had she been turned. She has a ranking in her mind: werewolf was the worst, vampire only marginally better (but the blood sucking was unquestionably a tidier affair), what she is (whatever _that_ might be) came in third worst, and death was preferable to the lot, she's sure.

She dabs at her mouth with a serviette, but Ron's already grabbed her arm and begun tugging. "C'mon, it's not comfortable eating here without a table." Lav can't help thinking _she'd_ managed nicely enough. If she'd _wanted_ her plate raised higher, she'd have used a Wingardium Leviosa. But Ron's dragging her after him and it's all she can do to grab her plate and follow.

She's having difficulty keeping her head down, her curtain of hair between them, but this is Ron, and he's headed to the kitchens. He doesn't spare her another thought as he leads the way, and she relaxes a little. The corridor before the kitchens is brightly lit, she panics briefly, but Ron remains fully concentrated on his task, scanning the food-themed paintings for the right one. He tickles the pear (the first time Lav had heard that, she'd thought it an euphemism for some act she hadn't yet encountered) in a painting of a bowl of fruit, it giggles and a handle appears in front of them. Ron takes it in hand, about as surely as he'd grabbed her, and the next thing she knows, he's basically pushed her onto one of the benches in the kitchens.

Well nothing has changed there. He'd never been the most gentlemanly of her suitors.

She keeps her face lowered, studying her plate she's now placed on the table in front of her. Ron doesn't seem to notice. He calls out to one of the elves, asking for a plate of his own, a bit of tuck as he's missing the meal. Lav notices the elves are so kind as not to point out they haven't even begun serving upstairs, and he wouldn't be missing it _at all_ if he'd only join the rest... But he'd been polite enough about it, another lesson learnt, and soon he's stuffing chicken legs into his mouth.

"Aren'tcha gonna eat that?" He manages between mouthfuls, or probably more like _during_ mouthfuls. It definitely doesn't slow him any.

"You don't mind the sight?" She asks, indicating the slab of barely cooked meat on her plate. 'Cooked' was generous; it could hardly be called 'warmed'.

Ron gives her a quizzical look and spits out "The sighta wot?" with some of his half masticated chicken.

"My _dinner_," she replies, utterly confused as to why it hadn't been obvious.

Ron swallows, which unsurprisingly does wonders for his enunciation. "If you're not going to eat it, I wouldn't mind a bite."

At this Lav finally dares to risk a peek. "You'd want some of _my_ dinner." She just dumbly echos his thought; she's too stunned to even make a question of it.

"Food's food," he answers, once again returning his attention to his chicken. "And I certainly wouldn't mind a bit of steak."

Half fearing it's a cruel joke, Lav cuts him some and places it on his plate. If she's still hungry, she knows the elves will prepare more for her, not that there seems to be much preparation involved. (It's almost just as it had been sent from the butcher's...) In an effort to avoid embarrassing her at meals, the elves had been carefully instructed in advance as to her dietary requirements and had seemed quite understanding really. Practically supportive. They'd invited her to eat there when she'd first fetched her food, but she'd just been too uncomfortable in any company.

Even theirs.

Ron doesn't hesitate, he takes a bite. "It's gone cold," he says. "Sorry I dragged you from it. Here," and he applies a Warming Charm to both of their plates. It's weird, and she wouldn't have thought of it, but it warms her food without rendering it more well done. It hadn't occurred to her that it doesn't actually _cook_things.

She's tries not to think about why it might be the case, but practically raw _and_ warm? _Such_ an improvement. She digs in with relish and something that could have been a feral growl. "See?" He says, pride clear in his tone. "Better isn't it? Learnt a few things while camping last year."

Soon they're eating together as though it were normal, her plate is empty and an elf appears beside them asking, "Would Missy be liking more?"

Ron answers for her. "Yes, please." She smiles a little shyly, but when it arrives she cuts off half to give to him, and they continue their meal.

They don't speak until they're finished, but that's never taken Ron long, and since the battle, well, meat doesn't hang about _her_ plate for any great length of time either. "How did _you_ rate steak?" He asks.

She stares at him in disbelief. "The werewolf attack," she prods his clearly addled brian. "Dietary changes are all part and parcel of the joys of the aftereffects."

"Oh, yeah. Bill has that. Murder on the household budget all that meat, but he's made a few connections. Let me know if you want me to get their names for you."

Lav blinks, taken aback. She'd forgotten about his brother, that he was in much the same situation. "Well, not so long as I'm at school, obviously, but I guess you're right." Goodness knows, her mum had complained about the bills on more than one occasion this summer. "That _could_ help once I've graduated."

"You should try for an apprenticeship with board included," he suggests. It had never crossed her mind, but somehow it isn't surprising that Ron had thought of it. It's a very good suggestion.

"Are there a lot of those?"

"More than you'd think. And the rest are sometimes open for negotiation. That's the biggest drawback to the Auror programme, only lunches are included, but if you plan it right, that can carry you for most of your daily requirement. Until you're earning real Galleons, and not just apprentice's pay... Well, every Knut counts," he shrugs. The longer they talk, the more comfortable she grows. The fact he never reacts when she begins to raise her head has her forgetting to be self conscious.

Soon she's looking him in the eyes, and it dawns on her she hasn't done that since... Well, since May. "I was sorry to hear about Fred," she tells him quietly.

"Yeah," he deflates in front of her, the impact of that loss clearly etched on his face. "Sorry I never got in touch while you were at St. Mungo's. The situation at home... Fred..."

"Oh, of course not. Don't worry about it. I understand perfectly." She's gotten good, frighteningly so, at lip service, making appeasing noises that have nothing to do with how she feels, eager to avoid yet another vulnerability. But she has to admit, she hadn't allowed anyone to come see her, not even 'Vati. She hadn't taken a single Floo call, or even read any owls. In fact, if he hadn't said as much, she'd never have known he hadn't tried to get in touch.

She tries to decide if she _really_ doesn't mind that he _hadn't_, regardless what she'd said.

It strikes her that it isn't easy to answer.

Most people who had seen her shortly after the attack had looked at her with such pity... She'd _hated_ it. But Ron, here and now, he's treating her just like normal. She vastly prefers this, and she doesn't know if it would have been possible in the months prior.

"They did a great job on you, though," he says and she blanches, _desperate_ for him not to go there. "You can't tell you'd been attacked at all."

Lav sits there, barely breathing, trying to parse what he'd just said. It dawns on her that it wasn't 'pretty good for someone run through the mincer' or 'not half ugly' or something like that, but that he didn't seem to think it was visible _at all_. Sure, objectively her face wasn't as badly mauled as her chest, but it had mattered so much more. And, yeah, she hasn't seen herself in a mirror in months. If she didn't know the Charms for her makeup by heart, she'd have been in a real bind. And it's possible, just possible, that all of her practice on the Glamours had done some good...

She sits a little taller, shifts her hair behind her ears, exposing her face (and her soul) to his scrutiny, and dares to ask, "Do you _really_ think so?"

Ron chuckles. "I'm not exactly known for my subtlety."

And she _laughs_.

It's true, he _isn't_ and, Merlin, it wasn't even funny, except it _is_. Shockingly so.

It occurs to her, this may be the first time she's laughed since before the battle, and there hadn't really been all that much to laugh about last year. Once she starts, she has a hard time stopping. So she sits there holding her sides and laughing until her ribs hurt, and it's so darn funny the sight of her trying to hold it in, that soon Ron joins in until they're both falling about the table.

She wipes a tear from her eyes when she finally gets herself back under control, trying to catch her breath. "Thanks. I think I really needed that."

Godric, he hasn't laughed like that since... Sixth year. "Me too," he's quick to agree, and somehow they're holding hands. It's friendly, nothing more, but it's been months since she's allowed anyone who wasn't a Healer to touch her and it feels... comforting. "Do you suppose we could get a spot of dessert?" He asks.

"Anything's possible," she replies, and as she says it, she thinks she might really mean it this time.

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For MyWitch, for a bunch of reasons, but mostly because she's super awesome and loves Lav. ❤️

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The story is mirrored on Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.  
Other works by gingerbred can be found on Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.


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